God Of football

"Izan's goal has lifted the Stadium, but there's still time for more drama. Leverkusen won't go quietly and I'm guessing we should expect a response from Xabi Alonso's men."

The stadium still pulsed from Izan's breathtaking strike. His curling effort, kissed by the floodlights, had found the top corner with an artistry that made time stand still.

The crowd had erupted in a wave of deafening euphoria, fans on their feet, arms raised in disbelief at the sheer brilliance of the goal.

But as Izan jogged back to midfield after his basketball-inspired celebration, he knew—this game was far from over.

Leverkusen had no intention of rolling over.

"And here they come again! Alonso urging his team forward. They know there's a window to strike back while Arsenal are still adjusting after that goal."

From the restart, Leverkusen charged forward with renewed intensity.

Xhaka, now playing like a man possessed, barked orders, dragging his teammates higher up the pitch, pushing Arsenal deep into their half.

He pointed straight at Izan, a silent command to his teammates that they couldn't allow him the same space again.

Arsenal, however, refused to sit back. Izan moved into the half-space, receiving a pass from Ødegaard, but before he could turn, Xhaka was on him.

The Swiss midfielder pressed aggressively, using his body to close Izan down before he could pivot.

Izan held his ground, feeling Xhaka's weight against his back, then attempted to spin away near the center circle.

But Xhaka nudged him just enough to disrupt his balance. The ball bobbled loose. Leverkusen pounced.

"Xhaka wins it back in midfield—Leverkusen are on the front foot! Florian Wirtz now, looking to make something happen!"

Wirtz was everywhere. The young German, so fluid and intelligent in his movement, picked up the ball on the left, skipped past White with a delicate feint, and drove toward the box.

Arsenal's defense scrambled. Saliba tracked back, trying to cut off his angle, but Wirtz exchanged a quick one-two with Schick at the edge of the area, found a sliver of space, and let fly.

The shot was low, vicious, curling toward the bottom corner.

"Wirtz goes for goal but Raya saves! Strong hand to keep it out!"

The ball spilled dangerously into the six-yard box.

For a moment, panic. Gabriel lunged to clear it, hammering the ball away before Schick could react. But the danger wasn't over.

Leverkusen kept coming. Another wave of pressure.

Then came the moment that sent Arsenal hearts sinking.

A routine pass into the box—seemingly harmless—turned into disaster. Gabriel lunged to clear it, barely clipping the ball, but Wirtz was already anticipating.

He took a clever touch.

Then came the slightest contact.

Wirtz went down.

Whistle.

"Penalty! Oh, you can hear the gasps inside the Stadium!"

The referee pointed to the spot. Arsenal players surrounded him, protesting, but the decision was made. No VAR review. No hesitation.

"Leverkusen have their lifeline! Arsenal protest, but Gabriel did catch him. Now it's all on Raya—can he keep Arsenal in front?"

Wirtz, ice-cold under pressure, stepped up.

Raya bounced on his line, arms outstretched.

The fans held their breath watching on as Wirtz set the ball down.

Wirtz exhaled, took two steps, and struck the ball with venom.

GOOOOOAAAAAALLLLL

"Wirtz… scores! No chance for Raya! It's 3-3! Leverkusen are level, and Xabi Alonso roars in approval!"

Leverkusen's players mobbed Wirtz, while Xhaka pumped his fist, shouting toward the Leverkusen jerseys in the stands.

On the other side, Arsenal players stood still. Gabriel, hands on his head, looked devastated.

Izan exhaled sharply, hands on his hips, his jaw tightening.

He stared at the Leverkusen players celebrating, then turned to the scoreboard. 3-3.

"And just like that, all of Arsenal's hard work has been undone. It's now a test of character. Who wants it more? This preseason match has turned out well"

With five minutes left in regulation, the match restarted.

Izan's mind sharpened. Every pass carried urgency. Every touch had weight.

He drifted into deeper pockets, demanding the ball, pulling the strings with Ødegaard and Rice, trying to probe the gaps in Leverkusen's now slightly deeper shape.

Zinchenko, overlapping on the left, found him in space. Izan let the ball run across his body, forcing Frimpong to step out.

The defender lunged but Izan's first touch flicked the ball over Frimpong's boot, before he accelerated, darting into the space left behind.

The crowd roared as he advanced toward the box, defenders converging. Izan spotted Saka making a run in behind and clipped the ball toward him.

Saka let it drop over his shoulder and volleyed the ball but ie went just wide.

"Arsenal so close! Izan unlocking the defense again, but Saka can't quite apply the finish!"

Time was slipping away.

The next sequence down the right saw White whip a cross into the box, forcing a panicked clearance after Havertz tried to head it.

The ball deflected off Tapsoba and rolled out for a corner kick

"And now, Arsenal with one final opportunity. Every Leverkusen player back to defend. Izan to take it. Can they snatch it at the death?"

Izan wiped the sweat from his brow as he placed the ball in the quadrant. He took a deep breath.

Gabriel, who had conceded the penalty, made eye contact.

This was his moment.

Ding, [Pinpoint Accuracy LV 3 activated]

The delivery was perfect.

A wicked, dipping ball, curling toward the far post.

Gabriel rose above everyone, hands tugging his shirt down but his met the ball before sending a thumping header towards goal.

"Gabriel rises… HE SCORES! REDEMPTION! GABRIEL MAKES AMENDS!"

Gabriel pounded his chest, sprinting toward the corner flag, the crowd roaring behind as his teammates swarmed him.

Izan followed but kept his celebration calm—just pointing toward Gabriel, acknowledging the moment.

The referee glanced at his watch.

Seconds later, the whistle blew.

"…And there's the final whistle! Arsenal edge out Leverkusen in a thrilling 4-3 victory!

A match full of quality, drama, and some serious individual brilliance—none more so than Izan, who stole the show with that stunning goal and a late assist to seal it!"

The crowd's energy still pulsed through the stadium as players began exchanging handshakes, exhaustion setting in after a fiercely contested preseason match.

Some swapped jerseys, others engaged in brief conversations, and a few simply made their way toward the tunnel, focused on recovery.

Izan, still catching his breath, ran a hand through his damp hair as he felt a presence beside him. Wirtz.

The Leverkusen playmaker gave him a nod. "Good game."

Izan returned it. "You too."

No need for unnecessary words. They had faced off at the Euros, crossed paths at the Kopa Trophy ceremony, and now battled again under different circumstances.

The mutual respect was there, unspoken but clear.

As they walked toward the tunnel, Wirtz glanced over. "How's London treating you?"

Izan shrugged, a small smirk forming. "Not bad. Still settling in."

Wirtz huffed a quiet chuckle. "Doesn't look like it."

Izan didn't bite. He knew what Wirtz meant—his performance tonight had been far from a player still finding his rhythm. But he wasn't one for self-praise.

Instead, he downplayed it, rolling his shoulders. "Just getting started."

Wirtz nodded as if he expected that answer. "Yeah. I figured."

They reached the tunnel entrance, where both teams were beginning to disperse—some players heading to the dressing room, others lingering on the pitch for post-match routines.

As Izan stepped into the tunnel, the air inside was thick with the lingering energy of the match.

The echoes of fans outside still rumbled faintly through the walls, but in there, the game was over.

Arsenal's players filed into the locker room, some still talking about the match, others heading straight for their seats to cool down.

The scent of sweat and fresh grass clung to their jerseys as they peeled them off, tossing them into the bins at the center of the room.

Ice packs were already being passed around, along with water bottles and electrolyte drinks.

The atmosphere was light—exhaustion mixed with satisfaction.

Mikel Arteta entered shortly after, his presence immediately drawing everyone's attention.

He clapped his hands twice, nodding as he took a glance around the room.

"Good work, all of you," he began, his voice firm but carrying a note of approval.

"Preseason or not, this was a proper test. And we responded well.

We were sharp, we controlled the game in phases, and when things got tough, we found solutions. That's what I want to see."

He took a moment, his eyes scanning across the players, then continued.

"Physically, it's not easy. These matches are designed to push you, and we still have work to do, but this is how we build momentum.

Enjoy the win, recover well, and be ready for the next one."

As the coach stepped back, conversations picked up again. A few players slapped Izan's back in passing, acknowledging his impact on the game.

Bukayo Saka gave him a grin as he walked by. "That basketball celebration, though? You been practicing?"

Izan smirked. "Something like that."

He settled onto the bench, untying his boots, as the room slowly transitioned from post-match analysis to preparation for departure.

Some players headed for the showers, others packed their bags, the hum of casual chatter filling the space.

Preseason or not, it was another game in the books. Another step forward.

A/n: Damn. We finally arrived. Last Golden Gacha Chapter. Anyways. Have fun reading and I'll see you in the evening.